


INTERLUDE: Fugue

by Koren M (CyberMathWitch)



Series: Heavy In Your Arms [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMathWitch/pseuds/Koren%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First chances, first meetings, tough decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	INTERLUDE: Fugue

**Author's Note:**

> See Chapter 1 of _[Heavy in Your Arms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/536997)_ for more notes.
> 
> Thanks again to Kadollan, Anuna, and SweetWaterSong for the beta work. :)
> 
> An Interlude to Heavy in Your Arms.

It was a lovely reception, but he would've been able to appreciate it more if he hadn't been scanning the room, looking for the man that SHIELD suspected was transporting experimental drugs across several countries while on tour.

The string quartet was well known in classical and academic circles, and having heard them play earlier in the evening, Coulson could attest to their talent. They managed to not only faithfully address the intricacies of the complex music they played, but imbue it with a great deal of emotion and excitement. One of the two violinists was also a brilliant composer, so they played a great deal of innovative new material as well. He'd enjoyed the show a great deal, but they had solid intel that the viola player was directly involved in the smuggling, and that tonight's drop would be after the final, private performance for the patrons. They'd sent him in as a wealthy, philanthropic music-lover looking for a new project to support.

Now he stood casually by the open bar and mingled while he waited for them to emerge from their dressing rooms.

"Mr. Reinhardt?" 

He turned at the sound of their manager's voice, started to reach out instinctively to shake hands, but froze when he saw her eyes.

The cellist... he wracked his brain for a name. Melinda... Miranda... no, Madeline. Madeline Hargrove, he reminded himself and mentally recalled her file. Blair School of Music at Vanderbilt, Magna Cum Laude, time in three separate, well-known symphony orchestras, and now a promising career touring with the quartet they were currently investigating. He'd thought she was attractive in her photo, but now...

Her hands were full with her music, cello, and bow, and she smiled at him with a sort of distracted look in her eyes, and he distantly noted that the manager was introducing them. She'd leaned forward just a bit, then remembered what she was holding, and after just a moment of juggling to try and offer her hand, realized that there was no way to get a hand free. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Reinhardt? It's good to meet you, though. We really appreciate your interest in our group and your support." The words were halfway between sincerity and a rote practice he was sure came with the territory for this kind of event, but she wasn't looking away, and he found he couldn't either.

Something was constricting his chest and interfering with his thinking because everything had narrowed down to _her_. He clasped his hands behind his back in what he hoped was a casual gesture and tried to find words, some sort of words to say. _Remember your cover, remember who you are, and who you aren't,_ he chided himself.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Hargrove. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your playing earlier was exquisite, and I'm looking forward to the private performance later." _Don't think about what you're about to do, about how you're about to change her life._ He knew, distantly, that his smile was still on his face, and wondered if it looked as made-up and plastic as it felt. Probably not.

Someone called her name from another doorway and she turned her head, breaking the contact. "I'm sorry," she managed, "I've got to go warm up. Maybe we can talk after the show?"

He found himself saying "Yes, I'd like that," even though he knew once she walked away he'd never see her again. As soon as she was out of his line of sight he excused himself, signaled his partner to take point, and escaped into the men's room to take a minute to collect himself.

He'd heard about soulmates, as a phenomena. He'd never been inclined to think about it in terms of himself. He'd never paid enough attention to it from a critical perspective to think what it would be like to meet a soulmate. Was it actually real, as opposed to a collective day dream? If it was real, how _much_ of it was real?

She didn't even know who he really was, couldn't ever know who he really was because he was SHIELD and she was in the middle of an investigation and even if he'd met her on the street somewhere he wouldn't have been able to tell her who he was and what he did.

She'd been mesmerizing as she played, and at first he'd assumed it was just the natural magnetism of a highly skilled, very talented musician. The good ones, the best ones, could draw you into their experience of the music in an almost hypnotic way and there was no doubt she was exceptional at what she did. He hadn't thought about any sort of mystical connection, but...

If it was real, then touch was the key. He knew that much. (He also knew just how much he'd _wanted_ to touch her, how disappointed he'd been when she'd been unable to free up her hands for a polite greeting.) No touching, period. If he was lucky, he wouldn't even have to see her face to face again before this mission was over. She wasn't a suspect, none of the evidence pointed to anyone other than VanLinden, the viola player, being involved.

They would take him into custody, and then he would disappear. She'd been distracted earlier, but even if she'd realized what was happening between them, she'd never know where to find him. That was safest, that was best.

He stared hard at his face in the mirror and forced himself to get it together. His professional mask back in place, he pushed his way through the door and back out to the party. He could do this. He could do whatever he needed to do.


End file.
